Chapter Twenty-nine

‘And if I ever find you anywhere near that cupboard again—’

Tom let his voice trail off threateningly. He turned his profile to the camera, clenched his wrist just a little too tightly round the young actress’s wrist (simply in order to inject a little real drama into her insipid acting, naturally) and half closed his eyes menacingly.

Conscious of the camera zooming in for a close-up, he held the look, allowing the merest flicker of the lids for added effect.

The young nurse looked at him, fear writ large in her huge, dark eyes.

‘I won’t. I promise!’ she quavered.

‘Because that smart young husband of yours just might not be quite so doting if he heard that—’

‘Don’t tell! Please don’t tell! I’ll do anything!’

Tom let go of the girl’s wrist with a fierce thrust that sent her banging into the wall.

‘Cut! Thanks Tom, Joy – you were both great. Right, let’s take a break for lunch, back in an hour.’

Tom Vallely was having the time of his life. He had established his character, Mr Charles Darling, an arrogant and egotistical consultant, as one of the core characters in the soap and Emergency Admissions was beginning to soar in the ratings. He liked to think of it as the Vallely Effect. He was looking forward to the regular pay cheque, but there were snags. The first cheque might be safely in the bank but it didn’t even begin to cover his debts – and he was already running up big bills to fund the lifestyle he was determined to enjoy.

The young actress playing the nurse he had just threatened was in the canteen when he arrived. He glimpsed her by the till, talking to one of the runners and rubbing her wrist. She caught sight of him and turned away quickly. Silly bitch. She’d flirted him into bed when he’d joined the cast but after just one shag she’d refused to see him again.

‘You’re really hot, Tom,’ she explained, painfully sincere, ‘but a bit too hot for me. Sorry.’

Tom didn’t take well to rejection. In any other situation he might have pursued the matter, but when you were working with someone every day it didn’t do to fall out too seriously. Instead, he took it out on her in small ways – a snide word here, a joke at her expense there and if, like today, he got the chance of physical contact, he played up to it. Subtly, of course, so that no-one else saw.

She’d better not snitch.

He glared at her across the room, staring fiercely at the back of her head, sure that she would know he was looking at her. He watched her hand come up and rub her neck as if it was sore.

Result.

At the canteen he helped himself to salad, a brown roll and a glass of juice. Must watch the figure. Wouldn’t do to pile on the beef.

Ann Playfair was in today. He spotted the middle-aged scriptwriter at a table by herself. Looked like a dyke. Good writer though, she came up with some excellent storylines for Mr Darling and,in fairness, she had been useful in helping him to land the role.

‘Afternoon, Ann. May I join you or is someone sitting here?’

Turn on the charm, Vallely, you never know what’s round the corner. He smiled his best smile and summoned warmth to his eyes.

‘Hello, Tom. Please,’ she indicated the vacant chair, ‘do sit. How’s it going?’

‘Brilliant. Loved that last script you did, Ann, the one where my character pulls off the impossible and saves the lad who was mangled in the farm machinery. And the “Will they, won’t they” line with Harriet Love is sheer genius.’

‘You’re getting on well with Hayley?’

‘Doesn’t it show?’ Tom had shagged Hayley Dearborn, who played Harriet Love, a couple of times. He knew he’d get her into bed again, too, despite her protestations that she had a husband and kids in Chester and she really shouldn’t be...

‘And the rest of the cast?’

He shrugged. ‘They’re okay. Yes. Good bunch.’

‘You don’t think your character is a little too arrogant?’

‘Hmm. Self-confident, wouldn’t you say, rather than arrogant?’

‘It’s a fine line.’

‘I can only go on the scripts I get, darling.’

Ann put aside her plate and started on her dessert. Jam roly poly and custard, no wonder she was so fat. Tom sipped his water and bit his tongue. Wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of a scriptwriter.

‘Sometimes actors bring out the best in a character, sometimes the worst. And scriptwriters pick up on that as well as feed into it.’

‘Are you saying I should tone the character down a bit?’

‘I wouldn’t presume to advise you, Tom. That’s the director’s job.’

‘Well, she seems very happy.’

‘That’s good.’

Tom let her finish her pudding, then asked, ‘Any good storylines coming up for Mr Darling?’

‘Tom. You know I can’t say. That’s not my job.’

‘Worth a try though.’ He grinned at her artlessly and was rewarded with a smile in return. ‘Any news from the girls? Marta?’

‘Aren’t you in touch?’

He put on a shamefaced look. ‘Should be, of course, but it’s been manic round here.’

‘Right.’

‘So...?’ he prompted.

‘Marta phoned me last week. Jake’s in London, she says, on a temporary contract. She sounded a bit down, but on the plus side, she’s been very busy with a certain Mr McGraw, an American.’

Tom’s ears pricked up. ‘Is that the guy who was on the news the other night? The one who’s poured millions into setting up some new business venture in Dundee?’

‘Apparently, yes. Marta’s been running tailor-made tours for some of the Americans he’s bringing over, real up-market stuff. She’s been enjoying that. And Carrie – you know Carrie?’

Did he know Carrie? Tom nearly laughed out loud. Instead he simply nodded encouragingly and waited.

‘Carrie Edwards has been seeing this man, it seems, this Mr McGraw. Marta says she’s a changed woman, like a teenager in love.’

Really? Caroline Edwards in love? Well, well.

‘How wonderful.’

‘Jane Harvie, though, the third of the friends – I take it you know her as well? Jane is seriously depressed. Marta didn’t say why. If you’re concerned about the girls, Tom, maybe you should get on the phone. Didn’t you stay with Marta and Jake in Edinburgh? I’m sure she’d welcome a call.’

‘Of course. Sure. I’ll call today. Nice to chat with you, Ann darling. I’ll have to move though. An actor’s work and all that.’

‘Yes, of course. Bye Tom. Nice to see you are prospering.’

Prospering? Up to a point, but not enough. Worth a phone call, for sure.